A Wood-Fired Christmas (Mistletoe Kisses)

Chapter Ten

CHAPTER TEN

LACEY CHECKED THE computer calendar on Saturday morning. “Welcome to the last Saturday before Christmas!” she called. “It’s a no-customers day!”

Today would be easy-easy-easy. They had one client who’d ordered seventy-five pizzas to be delivered throughout the day.

The Hobart was running, and Ezra called from the supply room, “I hope you’re ready for a nice, slow day.”

He’d behaved himself for the past week, which was good because it meant Lacey had been behaving herself, too. Gosh, it was tough making sure she never touched him, never got too close again. He moved like a lynx, his eyes like a predator’s but also gleaming with strength. He saw everything. Every so often, she thought she caught him seeing right through her.

She did not need another complication. If she got emotionally involved, she’d never keep the business afloat. Loveless Pizza required level-headed decisions, not urgent kisses in the storage room.

Speaking of which, she said to Ezra, “Once the slow day is over, I have something to run past you about the business.”

He paused, looking pained. “Yeah. I need to talk to you about that, too.”

Well, that sounded ominous. But she didn’t need a complication right at the day’s beginning, so she shoved the thought out of her head.

Lacey checked out the calendar on the office desk, marked in Barrett’s handwriting with “Castleton Music School,” with deliveries to start at noon. It was just the one customer today, and Shelly to make the deliveries. Greg had scrawled his days in the shop across Friday and Sunday, and Ezra had marked Monday as a supply delivery day. All was well.

Lacey’s phone rang, and it was Uncle Barrett. He said, “Lacey, I hope you don’t mind, but I have a last minute order.”

Lacey went to stand in the doorway. “You’re saying we don’t get a quiet day here after all?”

Ezra looked up at her.

Uncle Barrett said, “I know, you were only going to do sixty doughs, but I’ve got another order for forty.”

It was seventy-five, Lacey thought. Another forty would put them over Ezra’s cap, but he wouldn’t gripe about the actual owner making that decision.

Uncle Barrett continued, “The country club had a kitchen fire last night, but today is their biggest fund-raiser of the year. It’s for childhood cancer research, so I volunteered us. I’ll cover the cost myself.”

Lacey said to Ezra, “We’re doing another forty,” and he rolled his eyes. She returned her attention to the phone. “Sure, that only brings us to a hundred fifteen. Was anyone hurt?”

Ezra stepped closer, and she said, “Kitchen fire at the country club. They need us to save the day.”

He posed like a super hero, which was both funny and more than a little tempting, so Lacey gave a nervous laugh and turned away to keep talking to Uncle Barrett. “What time do they need us to start delivering?”

Uncle Barrett said, “No one was hurt, only equipment. Deliveries should start at two o’clock.”

Lacey said, “Sure, let the high class donors slum with pizza.”

Ezra muttered, “Probably the realest thing they’ll deal with all year,” and Lacey smirked at him.

Uncle Barrett gave her the rest of the details, which she jotted on the desk calendar alongside his original note. They shouldn’t need to call in Greg for this, although they might need an extra driver if they were going in two directions at once.

Ezra had begun doughnating individual dough balls out of the Hobart, so Lacey said, “I’ll update our social media and tell people where they can go to get more pizza,” and then, a minute later, she chuckled. “You’ve got a mistake here. Should I fix it?”

When she faced Ezra, once again she had the impression he’d been checking her out. Good luck with that, though. She’d wrapped on her apron and tucked up her hair in the hair net. He said, “What’s the mistake?”

“You posted that we’re delivering pizzas to the high school Christmas craft fair.”

He nodded. “Which we are.”

She said, “It’s the music school.”

Ezra shook his head. She said, “Ezra, I saw the calendar. The music school’s got Christmas performances all day.”

He said, “I saw the calendar too. You’re mixing up which school is which.”

Lacey walked into the business office. “Castleton Music School. Seventy-five pizzas.”

Ezra wiped off his hands and brought up the calendar on the computer. “Hartwell High School. Sixty pizzas. Barrett wrote it down wrong.”

Lacey said, “I confirmed it with them myself last week. Music school and high school are two separate things.”

“Which you shouldn’t have, because the Hartwell High School Christmas craft fair is an annual thing. It’s been in in the calendar since last December.”

Lacey snapped, “Are you saying no one but you knows how to read a calendar?”and then went to the electronic calendar to look at the day. It said, of course, Hartwell High School Craft Fair.

Well. Wasn’t this about to get fun?

Ezra huffed. “And you didn’t bother checking the calendar before confirming it with them?”

She gestured. “You might notice the calendar in your hands has nothing else on it other than the music school.”

“Well, as of now, we’re in panic mode.” He glared at her. “I’m calling Greg. I’ll tell him you got your wish, because today, we’re making a hundred seventy-five pizzas.”

Lacey pulled the finished dough out of the Hobart and started reloading the machine. This was Uncle Barrett’s fault. He was the one with multiple calendars and multiple streams of information. The first thing she’d need to do was streamline all their scheduling into one process so this didn’t happen again.

Still—today. The craft fair needed most of their deliveries between noon and two. The country club was going to go later than that. The music school was an all-day affair.

Ezra put down the phone without speaking, and she said, “That doesn’t sound good.”

“Yeah, he didn’t answer, and he’s not reading his texts. He may be in Boston for all I know.” Ezra stripped off his sweatshirt, leaving him in short sleeves. “It’s all you and me.”

A hundred seventy-five pizzas, and they were at a low point in supplies. Lacey braced herself. “Let’s do this thing.”

Ezra got the oven to temp while the doughs were proofing. Lacey prepped the toppings. Still no Greg. Shelly confirmed she’d be in early. That left the entire kitchen to Lacey and Ezra to double a normal day’s output.

Lacey didn’t update the social media as they worked. What would she say? “Due to a mixup, the Loveless One Hundred is almost two hundred, but we’re sure it will be fine.” Nope. Best leave that out.

On the other hand, between pies, Ezra did post an update. “Loveless to the rescue! After an ill-timed kitchen fire, you can sample our Wreath Pizza and donate to children’s cancer research at the country club.”

He knew how to handle these things. He barely broke stride while doing it.

Shelly was in and out the whole day. Lacey parceled out the toppings, but they were going to come up short on the mushrooms. They might end up needing to locally source them by sending Shelly up to the grocery store to clear an entire shelf.

Ezra worked like a machine. For all that he’d protested about not doing more than a hundred pizzas a day, he was nailing it now. They had dough proofing on every surface, and he was prepping pizzas and cycling them in and out of the oven like a pizza king. At every moment, he knew where everything sat and in what state it was.

More than that, he knew without checking exactly what Lacey was doing, whether it was topping the pizzas or spreading cheese or tracking which pizzas had gotten delivered to which sites. When toppings got short, he didn’t question when she reconfigured how much to put on which pies.

He trusted her. Now, when it counted, he trusted enough to let her fit in around his work. At the same time, he was modifying his operations to include her.

This was teamwork at its best. This was a partnership.

Ezra turned on the radio, and as he worked, he sang. He’d never sang for her before. Lacey didn’t want to join him and ruin it, but eventually did—and he didn’t go silent.

Shelly never stopped for longer than it took to reload her delivery bag. They all took a quick break at the halfway point, eating (ironically) fast food that Shelly had grabbed after her last dropoff. “Oh, and look,” Shelly said, “the craft fair organizer tried to hold a sprig of mistletoe over my head and give me a kiss.”

Ezra glared over from the counter. “He did what?”

With a flourish, she produced a pretty bundle of green leaves and red ribbon. “Oh, don’t worry. I told him I was keeping this in order to preserve the consent of every other woman at the craft fair, and if he didn’t watch it, he’d get his picture up on the Loveless social media with a discussion of how not to treat your delivery driver.” She rolled her eyes as she tossed the mistletoe sprig onto the opposite counter. “Three women applauded, and he slunk away.”

Lacey looked around. “Do we need to strike the craft fair from our list of customers?”

Ezra shrugged. “There’s a different director every year, so I’ll just make sure the craft fair committee knows to strike this one person as anyone we’ll work with in the future.”

Lacey gave him a thumbs-up. “Thank you.”

Ezra muttered, “It’s classier than handling it the old fashioned way.”

Then it was back to making pizzas.

Lacey called out the remaining numbers every time Shelly did a delivery. It was scant relief to be in the double digits, far better when they got below fifty, then two dozen, and finally the last batch. Shelly bagged it up, and she was out the door.

Ezra stood with his palms against the counter, head down, breathing hard. They were both drenched in sweat. Lacey locked the door for the oven, then turned to Ezra again. His arms curved with muscles, and his apron hung loose around his waist and neck. Although exhausted, he looked ready for anything.

Well, anything except what she was about to do. She slipped away to grab a folder from the office.

When she got back, Ezra finally looked around the kitchen. “I know we need to get things cleaned up, but I need a break.”

“Hey, time to lean, and then time to clean.” Lacey sat on the floor, knees tucked up, the folder dangling between two fingers. She’d probably gotten flour all over the seat of her jeans because flour got everywhere in a pizza kitchen. Even standard nonslip shoes didn’t work here.

Ezra laughed, then sat across from her. “Today was forty-five hours long.”

“Without a break,” Lacey said, sitting taller. “But you did great.”

Ezra said, “ We did great. I’m not the only one working here.”

He looked aside, though, as if to hide the sadness that flashed across his face.

Lacey said, “So, on the heels of this victory, do you remember I said I wanted to run something by you?”

Ezra’s mouth twitched. “Yes, but maybe we should let this stand as the high point for a little longer before we blow everything up, don’t you think?”

Lacey frowned. “You have that little faith in me?”

“It’s that I know something you don’t know.” Ezra drew a deep breath. “So… We agree the problem is that Loveless can’t afford two full-time salaries on top of everything else. And you’re going to need a salary as the new owner, so that leaves me.”

Lacey’s heart stuttered. “Wait— Ezra, stop.”

He shook his head. “Hear me out. I have a job offer from Jake’s. Same number of hours, comparable salary, all that. I’ll be fine, and you know everything you need to know to keep the place running, so you’ll be fine, too. It’s not like I’m the pizzeria’s beating heart—”

“—Except that you are the pizzeria’s beating heart!” Lacey’s voice pitched up. “You can’t quit. There’s something I need to tell you.”

His mouth tightened, but he stopped.

“I talked to Uncle Barrett.” She tried to catch her breath. “Because none of this is right.” Ezra didn’t interrupt. “He shouldn’t be giving the place to me.” Lacey’s eyes stung. “I know he’s got no business sense, but the fact is, all along, the heart and soul of Loveless Pizza has been Ezra Blake. It’s been nothing else.”

Ezra started.

Lacey held up a hand. “Even though he had the idea, you made the idea workable. You took every one of his stupid decisions, and you capitalized on them.”

Ezra frowned, but he seemed puzzled.

Lacey said, “You’re not just an employee. You’re the co-founder.”

He opened his hand. “And…?”

“And it’s not fair to shut you out. You’ve been right all along. This business was your project from the start. He’d never have gotten the doors open if it hadn’t been for you, and he wouldn’t have kept the doors open a week.”

Ezra smirked. “At least a month. Give him a little credit.”

“None whatsoever. He admits he had no idea what he was doing.” Lacey tucked her knees tighter. “When I told him all this, he agreed. He can’t just give me his pizzeria because it’s not really his pizzeria to begin with.”

Ezra tilted his head and raised a hand. “Except on paper.”

She lifted the folder. “On this paper, I happen to have words that would make you and me together the co-owners of Loveless Pizza.”

“What?” Ezra scrambled up. “But— How can you?”

“Because it’s not as if I deserve to own a pizzeria. I’m not giving up anything that was mine in the first place. If anyone deserves it, it’s you.” Lacey blinked hard. “So—you can’t just go work for Jake’s Pizza.” Her voice broke. “You can’t go work for him when you own the competition.”

Ezra raised his hands. “I didn’t know you were thinking about any of this when I called him.”

Lacey said, “You asked to go work for the enemy?”

“If it saved Loveless, yes, I would march myself right over to the enemy and wage war against Hartwell House of Pizza, which really is more Jake’s direct competition.”

Lacey huffed. “Do you have to criticize everything I say?”

“I think that’s in the paperwork,” Ezra said, so she handed him the folder. “If it’s not, I’ll have to include it. Every twenty-five minutes, Ezra must issue one criticism of…” He stopped.

Lacey said, tired, “Go ahead.”

He said, “Do I get to criticize your name? Because either your uncle got it wrong, or I do. You’re a Lovelace?”

Lacey said, “Don’t even try to pronounce my first name.”

Ezra pulled out his phone. “No, I need to pronounce this. A-o-i-f-e. Pronounced, EE-fa . Irish. Means, Lovely lady .” He looked her up and down. “Okay, I’ll grant that.”

She sighed. “You’re so generous, allowing me to use my own given name.”

“Now I know why you’re so offended by Loveless.” He was having way too good a time right now. “Because it’s your actual name, and unlike your uncle, you care.”

She said, “And everyone can pronounce Barrett. By age seven, I’d given up.”

“Aren’t you full of mystery?” Ezra sighed. “Okay, but even so. How do we get around the ‘can’t afford two full time salaries’ problem? Fun as it would be, I assume EE-fa Lovelace is not planning on living in my car.” He hesitated, then raised his eyebrows. “Although if you want to spend time with me in my car, I can think of a few—”

“Quit that!” Lacey snatched the folder back from him and waved it at him as though she were swatting away an insect. “We’ll have about a year to figure out new revenue streams. You’ll have veto power, but you’ll see all the information. I’m not the only one who can make changes. We just proved we can make more pizzas per day than we have been, although I’d rather stop short of a hundred seventy-five.”

Ezra blurted out, “A food truck.”

Of all ten trillion possible word combinations in the English language, those were not in the top ten percent of words Lacey had expected to hear from Ezra. “Repeat that?”

He got to his knees and moved closer, gesturing with his hands. “A food truck. I’ve always wanted to take Loveless to events like the ones we were hosting today, only we’d park outside and make the pizzas onsite.”

Lacey breathed, “Oh… And that opens us up to all sorts of events, not just craft fairs.”

Ezra came closer. “Outdoor concerts, blood drives, backyard weddings, town spirit festivals—”

“Do they even sell brick oven pizza trucks?” Lacey squinted at him. “Because the last thing I want is to make the news with a flaming food truck rolling down Route 186.”

Ezra snorted. “Yes, they do brick oven pizza trucks. We’d need a business loan, but that would be your area of expertise.”

Lacey tilted her head and raised a hand, palm outward. “A moment, my good sir. What if the brick oven pizza truck had the occasional farm-to-table event?”

Ezra pressed his palm against hers and entwined their fingers. “You mean, someone books it for precisely that reason?”

He moved closer to her, and she relaxed back into the cabinet, letting her knees drop. “A very specific farm-to-table event, that way everyone knows what they’re getting into.”

Ezra had drawn very close now. When he spoke, his voice was low and his presence intoxicating. “Do you think people always know what they’re getting into?”

Lacey brushed a hand along his cheek. “I don’t usually.”

He guided her hand close to his lips. “And now?”

She grinned at him. “Especially not now.”

He kissed her hand, but this time, it was for real. He started with his lips on the back of her hand, then worked toward her wrist. He didn’t get up to her arm before she tugged him toward her, and then she kissed his mouth.

His presence overpowered her restraint, but she pulled back enough to say, “But I’m willing to give it a go.”

Then she let him keep kissing her. Shelly would be back soon. They’d have to clean an entire trashed kitchen. They’d need to figure out the paperwork and change all the names on the accounts. They’d need to figure out funding. They needed so many things, but for the moment, she just needed Ezra close, so that’s what they had.